


Raining In Baltimore

by katherine_tag



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up, Seriously Old Fic, Songfic, the author digs in her archives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-13
Updated: 2003-10-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22077367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherine_tag/pseuds/katherine_tag
Summary: Youji is living in Baltimore, and Aya is 3,500 miles away. What happened, and what will change?
Relationships: Fujimiya "Aya" Ran/Kudou Yohji
Kudos: 2





	Raining In Baltimore

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote WK fanfiction between 2001 and 2004. Just posting here so it's all in one place.
> 
> Author's note recreated for posterity: This is a gift fic for my 666th visitor, poutine. Thanks for your support! I need to thank all the wonderful people who gave me information on Baltimore: Phaedra, Carlea, Trinity Bennet, netta j., and especially Veronica, who went above and beyond the call of duty. I really appreciate it! Thanks, too, as always, to my beta Missa, who puts up with my whining admirably.

_"Hello?"_

_"Hi, Dean?" It sounds like Dean, but Youji isn't sure; it's been a long time._

_"Yeah. Is that Youji?"_

_Youji smiles. "Yes, long time no see." He pauses. "Did I get it right?"_

_Dean laughs, that deep belly roll that Youji remembers. "Perfect. Your English is atrocious, as always."_

_"Thanks. Listen -"_

_"What's up?"_

_"I need to get out of Tokyo. Can I borrow your couch for a little while?"_

_"Sure thing, buddy. I meant it when I said it, and I still mean it. Anytime, all right?"_

_"Thanks, Dean." Youji is relieved. Now he won't have to - he pushes that thought away._

_"It's too bad about Asuka. She was a nice kid," Dean says._

_Youji winces. Dean doesn't know what happened after that. "Yeah, it's too bad."_

* * *

_15 November, 2003_

"Fucking piece of shit." Youji slammed his hand into the sputtering car radio, as if that would make it work better. In his experience, beating something electronic usually didn't make a difference, but he was frustrated enough not to care.

The man he was _supposed_ to be tailing hadn't shown up; he was three hours late already. It looked like this trek out into the middle of nowhere was going to be an entirely pointless venture, and that didn't make Youji any happier than his broken radio. Sighing, he switched the offensive machine completely off and lit another cigarette.

Silence wasn't so bad, really. Even when he had been working with Aya, they hadn't spoken very much. Of course, the silence had been very different then. Charged, almost, with things unsaid, and things undone, and Youji never knew when Aya would turn to him calmly and say, "Let's fuck." But those days were over, and the days after that when there had been an entirely different kind of silence between them were over too. Youji was stuck fifty miles east of Baltimore, and for all he knew, Aya could be anywhere. Youji hadn't seen him or talked to him since he had left Tokyo, almost a year ago.

His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, laying over the passenger seat, and he shoved thoughts of the past away as he dug it out and flipped it open. "Yeah?"

"Didn't your mother teach you anything, Kudou? That's no way to answer a phone."

"Dean." Youji smiled a little and took a drag on his cigarette. "Nope. I'm completely un-trainable."

He could hear the grin in Dean's words through the tinny connection. "Too bad. I know some girls that are dying to mother you."

"Tell them I'll call them when I'm in the market," Youji said, cradling the phone on his shoulder and stubbing out the butt of his cigarette while digging in the glove box for his crumpled pack and the spare lighter he kept in the car.

"So," Dean's voice switched from casual to businesslike. "I take it our man didn't show?"

"Right again, Dean-o." Youji didn't let any of his frustration leak into his tone. Dean had enough on his plate already without worrying over soothing Youji's ruffled feathers. He was still grateful for the job, and the loan of a couch for his first two weeks in the US.

"Shit, man. Where the hell did he go?"

"I don't know, but it sure isn't here." Youji stared glumly at the small roadside tavern he had staked out. The few cars that were parked in the parking lot looked like they hadn't moved in years, let alone hours.

"Well, come on back to the office, then." Dean sounded resigned. "I guess we'll have to do some more legwork on this one."

Youji grinned. "You mean I'll have to do more legwork," he corrected.

Dean laughed. "Just get your butt back here, Youji."

"Gladly." Youji ended the call and dropped the cell back onto his jacket. Reclining his seat a little further, he leisurely finished his cigarette, enjoying the sun while it lasted. With his luck, it was still raining in Baltimore.

* * *

_"When are you going to stop smoking those things? It's a disgusting habit."_

_Click, swoosh. "When you ask me to."_

_"Hn." Aya turns away, pulls the covers up over his shoulder, tucks his head under a pillow._

_"See? You don't really want me to quit."_

_Aya doesn't answer._

* * *

_06 February, 2003_

"Here we are," Dean said with a flourish, setting down two steaming mugs of coffee and a box of donuts on the scratched table that resided in the back of the office. "Breakfast of champions."

Youji slid the mug closer and inhaled the dark, rich scent. Coffee never failed to remind him of Aya - his sweat, pungent and earthy, bitter like caffeine. "Thanks," he murmured, scalding his tongue on the first sip.

Dean plopped down in the chair directly across from Youji and ran a hand through his dark, short hair. There was just a hint of gray at his temples that hadn't been there before. Youji liked to tease Dean about being old, though if he thought about it, he was the one who felt ancient. "It's nasty out there," Dean said, pretending to wring out his sweater. "Raining cats and dogs."

Raising his eyebrows, Youji said, "It's been either raining or snowing since I got here. Can it do something else?"

"Oh ye of little faith," Dean replied, his rough voice muffled by a large bite of chocolate donut. "We have a very nice spring, I'll have you know."

"For what, two weeks?" Youji asked sarcastically, nibbling on a maple twist.

Dean rolled his eyes at that, but chose not to comment, instead concentrating on demolishing the rest of his donut. He was dressed as he always was during the week - khaki pants, white undershirt, some kind of sweater over the top. Today it was a plain green cable knit.

Sipping his coffee, Youji traced a pattern on the tabletop with his finger. It had been nearly two months since he had left Japan, and he hadn't expected to be over Aya yet. But the pain caught him unguarded every time, and unexpected things brought all the memories, good and bad, rushing back. Like a woman's white teeth on a billboard reminding him of Aya's sudden smiles, gleaming in the dark, the patterns of rain on a car window of Aya's hair spread over his pillow.

"Penny for your thoughts," Dean said casually, reaching for another donut.

"Mmm." Youji swirled the dregs of his coffee in the bottom of the mug and wished for more, if only to remind himself of how Aya smelled again. "Guess."

"Ah," Dean said, leaning his elbows on the table and looking intently across at Youji. "You wanna -"

"No," Youji said flatly, pressing his lips together for a long moment and avoiding meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean smiled. "I've got tickets to a Ravens game this weekend. Want to go?"

"Um, Ravens?" Youji asked uncertainly. He had never been much of a sports fan. In fact, the closest he had ever gotten to a sports match was watching the World Cup on TV with Ken. Under extreme duress.

Rolling his eyes, Dean said, "Jeez, Kudou. _Football_ , man."

"Oh." Youji gave a mental flip through his calender, which was, as usual, completely empty. "Yeah, sure, why not."

"Great!" With that, Dean stood up and began to rummage through one of the file cabinets that lined the back room. He tossed a folder on the table next to Youji's empty coffee mug. "Here, you can start on that."

Chin on hands, Youji eyed the file and sighed. Business as usual.

* * *

_Youji is still conscious as Ken carefully places him on the bed. No matter how gentle Ken is, though, it still jars his stomach, and he hisses at the pain. A hiss is all he can manage right now. It hurts to breathe._

_Aya is standing in the doorway, and he turns to go out when he sees Youji settled on his bed. He has shed his trench coat somewhere along the way and his arms are striped red with Youji's blood. There is blood on his face, too, but Youji can't remember if it is his own or their targets'. The mission is quickly slipping away from him._

_He tries to raise his hand and whispers, "Aya."_

_Ken shushes him, but Aya turns back, one eyebrow raised questioningly. He jerks his head at Ken, telling him silently to get the first aid kit._

_"Stay," Youji says to Aya weakly, when Ken has gone out._

_Aya nods, and sits on the edge of the bed awkwardly, folding his hands in his lap._

_"No, I mean," and Youji knows that this isn't really the time but he has to say this and he is so close to dying tonight that he needs to say, "stay forever. Don't leave me."_

_Aya smooths the hair back from Youji's sweaty forehead, and his eyes are for once unshuttered. "I'll stay," he says. "I won't leave."_

_Youji slides away, drifting toward unconsciousness on a red sea of pain. But now he is tied to this life by a single thread, that lifeline that Aya gave him, and he knows he will wake up again._

* * *

_27 March, 2003_

What made Baltimore feel so alien, Youji finally decided, was that it was flat. Unlike soaring Tokyo, many of its buildings were the same height, with only a few hotels and skyscrapers breaking the monotony. And so many of the buildings were old - well, historic, he supposed. The Americans were so damn proud of the piddly 200 year history.

He missed Tokyo. He missed the crush of people, he missed the plastic, the neon signs, and, strangely enough, the dirt and grime. Tokyo was a modern city. It was new and bustling and alive. It lived and breathed, like some huge behemoth stretched out over miles and miles of metal and concrete.

And, he admitted to himself, he missed Tokyo because Aya was in Tokyo.

Youji turned onto Broadway and headed for Fell's Point. It had become his favorite part of the city, notwithstanding the picturesque tourist attractions and the overabundance of historical sites. He skirted Broadway Market, tempted by the food smells wafting out of the wooden building, but resisting. He and Dean had eaten Chinese takeout just an hour before, at the office. (An experience that Dean had been only too happy to introduce him to.)

It was too early for tourist season, but there were still a fair number of people around, residents of the area and of course the ubiquitous Japanese tourist. Youji savored the sight of black hair topping toffee colored skin, almond eyes and the epicanthic fold.

He missed Aya. Oh, he missed Aya.

He wished he could remember the sound of Aya's voice. But he couldn't. It was like that last week of silence had completely erased it from his memory. Now, even in his dreams, when Aya spoke, he made no sound. He had forgotten other things too, like what Aya's handwriting looked like, exactly how he walked, his favorite song - though Youji wasn't sure he had ever known that.

Of course, he remembered other things. The way Aya's smile had spread across his face, slowly, shyly, when they were alone at night and no one was watching. That image was infinitely precious, and Youji had clung to it, a small comfort, on the plane to Baltimore. How Aya had brushed his hair back from his face, how he had tied his shoes - neatly and with no wasted movements, how he hated to do laundry, but compulsively washed the dishes, how his books were organized by subject matter, the gentle way he had handled flowers. All these small things that when added up made the man he had loved, did love, was in love with.

Well, it couldn't be helped now. Youji reached the pier and leaned on one of the wrought iron benches lining the water. He shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit it, holding the first taste of smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before slowly exhaling. He contemplated taking a water taxi across the bay to the Visionary Art Museum and wasting some time there, but a quick glance at his watch (large and bulky and left over from Weiss - old habits were hard to break) told him that it would be closed in a half hour anyway.

Youji stayed there, leaning on the bench, until the sun set, turning the cloudy sky pastel shades of orange and pink. He shivered and hunched into his jacket. The pier was mostly empty now, save for some tourists waiting for the perfect sunset shot, and a young couple leaning into each other on a nearby bench. He left them to it and walked up Broadway again, toward the office, toward 'home'.

Passing Fell's Point Station, Youji hesitated. The pub looked warm and inviting, light spilling out of its windows and open door. He had been there before, once, with Dean, and the beer hadn't been half bad, and the food decent. On a whim, he walked through the door, sitting at the bar and ordering a Guinness.

Sighing, he stared moodily at the wooden counter before sipping the dark beer, letting the malt taste linger on the back of his tongue. Aya hadn't liked beer, and Aya hadn't liked clubs, so Youji had seriously revamped his night life. Going clubbing wasn't as much fun anyway, after he had had Aya to come home to. He had tried to get back into the scene in the U.S., but his heart wasn't in it. There were some good clubs in the area, but he generally couldn't be bothered to actually go, and once he was there, he was miserable, because all he could think about was Aya.

Who was he kidding? All he could ever think about was Aya, and he was always miserable.

Well, enough was enough. He had had enough of being miserable and of missing Aya and he had had especially enough of Baltimore, Maryland, the United States of America. Youji strode out of the bar, leaving his beer half finished on the counter.

He was going to call Aya.

The walk to his apartment seemed interminable, and Youji barely noticed the passing scenary. Butterflies fluttered nervously in his stomach. He was going to call Aya.

Youji burst through his door and went straight for the phone. He knew the country code and he knew the number, so he dialed before he could think it over. Biting his lip, Youji belatedly tried to come up with something to say as he waited through the clicks and clacks of an overseas call.

And then it turned out not to matter, because Aya didn't answer anyway.

* * *

_"Hey, Aya, where've you been?" Youji pulls his hair back out of his face, wrapping a rubber band around it._

_Aya looks at him with empty eyes. "She's dead," he chokes out._

_Youji opens his mouth and his arms and without any hesitation at all Aya folds himself inside that protective circle, shaking like some frightened wild animal. He is taking great gulping, shuddering breaths, and Youji knows this is probably the closest he'll ever come to crying. Youji strokes his back, can't think of anything to say._

_After too short a time, Aya pulls away, his mouth drawn tight. "I'll be upstairs," he says._

_Watching him go, Youji knows Aya will do katas until he is so exhausted he can't think, can't remember that she's dead. He doesn't know how to stop it, so he sits at the kitchen table and listens to the thumps and the muffled shouts until he thinks his heart will break._

_Then he calls Omi and cries silently on the phone, because Aya can't._

* * *

_09 December, 2002_

Youji stood off to the side of the Starbuck's coffee stand, and waited for Dean. They had agreed to meet there, the extra security precautions barring Dean from waiting at the gate, but Youji's layover in Detroit had been longer than either of them had anticipated. It was strange to think that it was really only a little over two hours since he had left Japan. It was as if those fourteen hours on a plane had never happened, though his body told him differently.

He sipped at the so-called green tea and grimaced. "Note to self," he said wryly.

"There you are," Dean said from behind him.

Youji turned and was immediately engulfed in a bear hug. He belatedly hugged back with one arm, trying not to spill hot tea everywhere.

"Welcome to Baltimore." Dean patted his shoulder and grinned.

Dean looked almost the same as when he had been a semi-permanent tourist in Japan, 'sowing his wild oats'. Was that the expression he had used? His hair was a little shorter, more conservative, and there were a few new wrinkles lining his mouth and his eyes. Happy ones, Youji was glad to note. He still looked young and healthy, and energetic - even Asuka had had a hard time keeping up with Dean. Youji smiled a little. He could almost think about her without pain. But that was only Asuka, not Neu. Ignoring the dark turn his thoughts had taken, Youji tossed the pathetic excuse for tea into a nearby trash can and picked up his two suitcases.

"Is that all you've got?" Dean asked, looking incredulous.

Youji indicated a large duffel bag by their feet. "And that," he said. He had been something of a clotheshorse, even back then, but now ...

Most of his clothes just reminded him of Aya. There wasn't any rhyme or reason for it. They just did.

"I was thinking of buying new clothes while I was here," Youji said as Dean hoisted up the duffel bag and started to lead the way out of the terminal. "Know any good places?"

"Not unless you want to start dressing like me." Dean flashed a quick grin over his shoulder at Youji. He was wearing his trademark khaki pants and a button down shirt under a heavy jacket. "I'm sure you'll find your way around in no time."

Youji yawned and tried to keep up with the older man, the red and black decor of the airport barely making an impression on his jet-lagged brain. When they got to Dean's car, he threw his suitcases into the trunk and slumped wearily in the front seat, fumbling with the seat belt as Dean buckled himself in. Leaning his head back, Youji yawned again.

"You hungry?" Dean asked, starting the car. "Or do you just want to crash?"

"Sleep," Youji said, closing his eyes.

"You do look pretty beat. I remember the feeling."

"Thanks for everything, Dean," Youji said quietly.

"Hey it's no problem." There was a rustle of cloth as Dean turned his head and Youji cracked his eyes open long enough to meet the other man's gaze before Dean turned his attention back to the road. "You've actually come at a great time - my secretary just quit so she could go back to college full time."

"Secretary?" Youji asked warily.

"You'd be more like a partner," Dean explained. "I'm expanding, and I can't keep up with everything by myself. I know you have the experience, and really, it's just the same as in Tokyo. Whaddya say?"

"Sounds good, Dean." Youji smiled. "Now I really ought to thank you."

"You can thank me by telling me why the hell you wanted out of Tokyo so bad," Dean said wryly.

Youji turned his head to stare blindly out the window. "Maybe some other time," he said.

* * *

_Youji arches his back as Aya presses his hips into the mattress and takes the head of his cock into his mouth. He looks down, straining to keep his eyes open, because he knows Aya doesn't like to do this, but Aya knows how much he likes to see his length slowly disappear between lips that are normally compressed into a tight, thin line. Aya's lips are softer at night, in bed, and now they are turning pink as he tongues the underside of Youji's cock._

_Smiling a little at him, Aya slicks his fingers with lube, just lightly brushing Youji's entrance as his mouth descends on his weeping erection again. Youji moans and squirms, wanting more than the tip of Aya's finger pressing inside him, more than Aya's mouth just holding him._

_But Aya feels the need to tease him with little flicks of his tongue, as one finger slowly slides inside him. Youji wants to press his hips up, to beg a little, but he knows that that will make Aya tease him longer, so he clenches his fists in the sheets and bites his tongue just hard enough to remind him not to say,_

_"Please," he gasps anyway._

_Aya releases his erection and takes his finger away, crawling up Youji's body to kiss him forcefully. His lips are warm and slick and the inside of his mouth is salty from Youji's precome. Aya presses his hips forward and Youji opens his legs wider, puts a hand down to guide Aya into his body, and then, then -_

* * *

_16 August, 2003_

Youji woke up.

He was laying on his back on his dilapadated couch, hands pressed into the cushions, dick an uncomfortable throbbing ache confined in his jeans. He rolled over, groaning as he pressed his hips into the lumpy cushions.

It wasn't the first time he had dreamed like that. It wasn't the first Saturday night he had fallen asleep on his couch with all his clothes on either.

Ignoring it didn't really help, of course, so he flopped over onto his back again. He unfastened his pants and slid a hand over his erection, slicking his fingers with precome, dabbling them on that sensitive spot on the underside. Pushing his pants a little further down his hips, he cupped his balls lightly in his left hand while starting a gentle rythym with his right.

Youji pretended it was Aya's hand.

He pretended that it was Aya's hand stroking him, Aya's hand pressing into his hip. The faint sound of Aya breathing, the way his weight made a barely imperceptible downhill slope in the cushions. It was an almost tangible dream, perhaps not quite as real as his dreams when he slept, where he believed that Baltimore had never happened. Aya's body was warm against his leg and it seemed like only a few seconds before he was coming, spurting hard, and it was into the palm of Aya's hand, and Aya's fingers that he slowly licked clean afterward.

Then he lay there for a long moment, breathing shallowly, an arm over his eyes to shut out the faint glow from his curtainless windows. Eight months since he had moved in and the apartment still felt like a temporary stopgap, a stepping stone on the way to somewhere. Except, of course, that he was going nowhere.

He had nowhere else to go.

Grimacing a little at his train of thought, Youji shimmied the rest of the way out of his jeans, leaving them in a huddled pile on the floor next to the couch. He stripped his shirt off, too, as he sat up, then ran his hands through his tangled hair.

God, he was a mess. Working for Dean, wandering around Baltimore like a lost man, and falling asleep depressed on his couch made up most of his days. He didn't even bother to get drunk anymore. He just couldn't seem to move past Aya in any way. And who was he kidding, really? He hadn't even tried to get over Aya. Man, woman, it didn't matter - he didn't want anyone but Aya.

Sighing, Youji wandered naked to the bathroom. Avoiding his tired eyes in the mirror, he half-heartedly brushed his teeth and wiped himself down with a damp washcloth. Someday, the pain would be less, he told himself as he flopped down on his bed, the only really luxurious item in his whole apartment. It was like grief, right? It became more bearable in time, when the memory of their face faded from your mind ...

Almost without thought, his hand crept over to the phone and dialed a series of numbers that were burned indelibly into his brain. The LED display on his clock read 3:00 AM. Middle of the afternoon in Tokyo. Maybe Aya would answer this time.

But of course, he didn't.

* * *

_"Aya, talk to me. You haven't spoken a word all week." Youji waits a beat, poking the linoleum floor with a socked toe. "Have you even slept?" he asks softly. "If you have, it hasn't been in our bed," he says, almost to himself. "Please, Aya, don't shut me out like this."_

_Silence from Aya, who just stands there, staring at his feet, eyes as dead as they were when he had come home from the hospital for the last time. His mouth is set in a firm line, small worry lines threatening to become permanent radiating from his lips. His hands clench at his sides, twisting the fabric of the loose shirt he is wearing._

_"It's like I don't exist, Aya," Youji explains. "It's like no one exists for you anymore. You don't have to talk to me about it, Aya, and I'm not expecting you to get over this so soon, but please ..." he trails off, his feelings too wretchedly confused to put into words._

_"Out," Aya says, with a quiet intensity that he has hitherto only used on his enemies._

_"What?" Youji tries to look into Aya's eyes, but they are firmly fixed on the floor. They haven't moved at all, not even a flicker, during the entire conversation._

_"Get out," Aya repeats._

_The surface of Youji's heart cracks like the hard top of creme brulee, a brittle, quiet sound, and he feels sick to his stomach. "Aya," he falters, unsure._

_"Leave," Aya says harshly. "I never want to see you again."_

_So that's it. Aya brushes past Youji and walks up the stairs, and it's like Asuka all over again, only it's **not** his fault and Aya's **not** dead and it's **not fair**._

_So he leaves. And he tries hard not to look back, but of course he does._

* * *

_20 June, 2003_

Youji sighed and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk and crossing his ankles. Dean was out of the office all day, asking a few careful questions about a missing _objet d'art_. A few people had called, and Youji had set up appointments for them, but otherwise it had been eerily quiet. 10:00 AM and he was already bored. After all, solitaire could only hold his interest for so long.

He looked longingly at the phone. Dean didn't mind international calls, as long as Youji 'fessed up and paid later. Dropping his feet to the floor with a thud, he picked it up and dialed. No answer again.

Depressing the lever with his thumb, he dialed a different number and mentally crossed his fingers that Omi was at home. It was almost time for his bi-weekly chat with the kid, anyway. Pretending to be cheerful would relieve the tedium of his day for a few minutes at least.

"Moshi moshi!" Omi's bright voice answered. He sounded a little out of breath.

"Hey, kiddo," Youji said, leaning back in his chair again and twining the phone cord around his hand. "How're you doing?"

"Youji-kun!"

Youji smiled. It was always gratifying how happy Omi sounded to hear from him. "What have you been up to?" he asked.

"Wait a second." There was sounds of scuffling on the other line. "Ken-kun is visiting me! Can I put you on speaker phone?"

"Sure." Youji leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, amusing himself by trying to guess what the various thumps and clicks were on Omi's end. There was a small squeaking noise, and then Omi's voice came through again, breathless and anxious.

"Can you hear me, Youji-kun?"

"Yup, it's good on my end."

"Hi Youji!" Ken's voice, sounding tinny, but healthy, as usual.

"Hey there, Kenken."

"We went to see a soccer game today, Youji-kun!"

"Yeah! It was great!" Ken started in on a play by play, but Omi shushed him.

Youji chuckled. He was glad that his two younger teammates had connected. Omi needed someone to buddy around with and be young with, to help him forget the enormous responsibilities he had as the head of Kritiker. God knows neither he nor Aya had ever been any good at that. They were both too old, not in years, perhaps, but in their hearts.

"How's Baltimore?" Omi asked, stumbling over the foreign name as usual.

"Fine. Hot," Youji said noncommittaly.

"Na, Youji, are you really okay?" Ken said, sounding suddenly very serious. "The kid here worries about you all the time."

"Mou! Ken-kun, I am not a kid!"

Smiling, Youji closed his eyes and wished himself back to Tokyo. He wasn't really fine, but there was no reason to worry his friends about it. He would get over it.

Maybe.

Someday.

"How's Aya?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I'm worried about him, too," Omi said. "I haven't talked to him since you left, you know that."

"I know." Youji rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"He's still there, in the flower shop," Ken added. "I've seen lights on upstairs some nights."

"But he never answers his phone! And when I go over there, he doesn't answer the door either." Omi paused. "I think you should come home, Youji-kun."

"He doesn't want to talk to me either, kiddo." Youji fiddled with the phone cord, twisting it in and out of his fingers. "I'll be fine, okay? Don't worry so much. You'll get an ulcer, and you're too young for that."

"That's what I keep telling him," Ken said drily.

Omi said mournfully, "We miss you. And I'm sure Aya-kun does too."

"I know," Youji said. "I miss you too." And he did. But he was almost certain that Aya didn't miss him at all.

* * *

_"Youji, what are you doing?"_

_Youji snuggles closer, nestling his head on Aya's shoulder. "Sleeping," he says._

_Aya pushes him off. "Well don't do it on me," he says, opening his book again._

_Sniffing in mock insult, Youji turns over and hugs a pillow to his chest, but it's just not the same. "Fine," he mutters tiredly._

_"Sleep well," Aya says almost tenderly, and strokes Youji's hair._

* * *

_01 January, 2004_

Cursing, Youji wrung out his hair on the landing before unlocking his apartment. He really should buy a raincoat, he knew, but somehow he had just never gotten around to it. He didn't mind being cold and wet, really.

Right.

He dropped his sodden jacket over the back of a chair. Stripping off his damp shirt too, he tossed it in the general direction of the couch. Youji stood in the middle of the living room and rubbed his hands up and down his arms in a vain attempt to warm them up. Giving up on that, he went into the bedroom and dug around on the closet floor for something semi-clean and warm to put on.

As he pulled his head through a thick turtleneck sweater, the phone caught his eye.

"I promised myself I wouldn't call anymore," he told it.

The phone sat there innocently.

"He never answers anyway," Youji said to himself.

But he picked up the phone anyway, and dialed. He just couldn't let go. Closing his eyes, he waited for the call to connect. One ring -

"Moshi moshi."

"Aya?" Youji couldn't believe that it was actually Aya, that he was actually there, on the other end of the line.

"Youji." Aya didn't sound surprised, as if he had been expecting this call. But he sounded tired, and resigned, and maybe even a little defeated. It sounded like he was lost, and that small vulnerability in Aya's voice made Youji's heart constrict painfully in his chest.

Youji had no idea what to say. He had called and called, and never really thought there would be an answer. "I really need a raincoat," he blurted out.

Aya laughed, and the sound was still, to Youji, as rare and precious as true joy. "Come home," he said gently, "and I'll buy you one."

**Author's Note:**

> The circus is falling down on its knees  
> The big top is crumbling down  
> It's raining in Baltimore fifty miles east  
> Where you should be, no one's around  
> I need a phone call  
> I need a raincoat  
> I need a big love  
> I need a phone call
> 
> These train conversations are passing me by  
> And I don't have nothing to say  
> You get what you pay for  
> But I just had no intention of living this way
> 
> I need a phone call  
> I need a plane ride  
> I need a sunburn  
> I need a raincoat
> 
> And I get no answers  
> And I don't get no change  
> It's raining in Baltimore, baby  
> But everything else is the same
> 
> There's things I remember and things I forget  
> I miss you  
> I guess that I should  
> Three thousand five hundred miles away  
> But what would you change if you could?
> 
> I need a phone call  
> Maybe I should buy a new car  
> I can always hear a freight train  
> If I listen real hard  
> And I wish it was a small world  
> Because I'm lonely for the big towns  
> I'd like to hear a little guitar  
> I think it's time to put the top down
> 
> I need a phone call  
> I need a raincoat
> 
> -Raining In Baltimore, Counting Crows


End file.
